


might have cherished you more wisely

by SoDoRoses (FairyChess)



Series: Love and Other Fairytales [15]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Deceit POV, Drugging, Gen, Impersonation, Poisoning, Villain Deceit, very light mind controllish shenanigans, which isnt malicious but has some pretty fucking DISASTROUS consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-17
Updated: 2019-04-17
Packaged: 2020-01-15 12:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18498961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairyChess/pseuds/SoDoRoses
Summary: How did Virgil get in the casket?It’s a long story.(It’s not, really. It’s what happens after that’s much, much too long.)





	might have cherished you more wisely

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "The Old Astronomer" by Sarah Williams

_Fall – 100 years ago._

Virgil’s boots crunched through the twigs and shriveled leaves; he kept his eyes carefully forward. It wouldn’t do any good to give himself away.

The muted sound of shod feet on wooden branches reached his ears and he slowed down, waiting for his attacker to make their move.

The shift of fabric, and the scrabbling of a heel slipping off a branch nearly made him turn, but then there was a whooshof air a war cry split the afternoon silence.

Virgil took a single step to the side, reaching out and snatching the small body out of the air.

“Hello,  _pest_ ,” he said lightly.

His attacker’s shout instantly morphed into gleeful giggles. Trudi had barely come to a stop before she was using his belt as a foothold and climbing onto his shoulders. He sighed.

“Where is Greta, Trudi?”

“ _Mutti’s_ making dinner,” she said, leaning forward so her upside down face was in front of Virgil’s, “Did I scare you  _Bruderspinne?_ ”

“Not even a little,” he said, deadpan, “You’ll have to try much harder than that,”

“Spoilsport,” she said petulantly. She set her little head on top of her folded arms on Virgil’s head. She clearly had no intention of moving. Virgil sighed, exasperated.

“And what about your father?” he said, continuing on his way towards Greta’s house, “You’re not supposed to be out by yourself,”

“ _Mutti_  knew you were coming, so she told me to come meet you,” said Trudi, swinging her feet. Virgil halfheartedly swatted at them to get her to stop. Trudi’s response was to start leaning precariously side to side in an effort to steer him like some kind of horse. Virgil was having a very hard time keeping a straight face.

“And we’re not  _that_  far away from my house,” she said, “ _Mutti_ says you’re just a mother-hen,”

“Does she really?” Virgil said dryly.

“Oh, yeah, and that you’re a worrywart, and that you think the sky’s gonna fall down all the time, and that if you don’t relax once in a while you’re gonna give yourself an anner- a nanny-er-i-”

“An aneurysm,” said Virgil, “Yes, she’s told me,”

He stepped into the cleared area in front of Greta’s house, reaching up and pulling Trudi into his arms. The last thing he needed was for her to whack her head on the door frame – Greta would never let him hear the end of it.

Trudi grinned and Virgil, absolutely helpless before her gap-toothed little face, smiled back before he could restrain himself.

He climbed the porch steps two at a time, because he knew it would make Trudi laugh; he took a moment to wonder why the door was cracked open, but he could hear Greta on the other side, so he wasn’t particularly worried.

Until he went to step through and fell like he walked straight into a  _wall,_ that is.

He yelped, dropping Trudi, who was already breaking into peals of delighted laughter. He could see Greta through the door now that it was opened wider, and she was also cackling. Even the damn  _dog_ was making a racket.

“What did you do  _now?”_ he snapped, rubbing his aching nose.

“Don’t look at me, it was Trudi’s idea,” said Greta.

“ _Mutti_ , don’t  _fib!_ ” said Trudi, putting her feet on either side of the door frame and walking her way up until she could retrieve the iron horseshoe they’d hung on top of the door. Virgil took a hesitant step forward, and this time passed through with no resistance.

“Alright, fine it was maybe about half my idea,” said Greta, “Maybe less, or more. Who knows? Not me,”

“We got you though!” said Trudi, practically vibrating with excitement, “Do you see now, when I jumped on you in the woods it was a dish-rack- a dis-action-”

“A distraction,” said Virgil fondly, “Yeah, you got me, pest, congratulations,”

As soon as he was past Trudi, there was the dog, jumping around him and insistently digging his nose into Virgil’s pockets in search of food.

“Get- get  _off,_ you obnoxious-”

“Ritter,  _platz_ _,”_

The dog retreated, though he looked distinctly put out about it.

“ _Aus_ ,”

The dog huffed once, then bounded out the still-open door.

“Your hound is a menace,” Virgil scowled, straightening his clothes. He let out a huff at the dirty brown paw print on his vest.

Greta shrugged.

“It’s your own fault,”

“ _One_  time-”

“‘One time’ is one time too many to bring a  _dead gopher_  into my house,  _Bruderspinne,_  I cannot  _believe_  you need me to explain this,”

“I was  _courteously_  informing you that you had an infestation,”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she said, not looking up from the bread dough she was taking out a fair amount of aggression on, “There’s this enormous nuisance of a spider, you see, that keeps finding it’s way back into my house no matter what I do-”

Virgil rolled his eyes, turning away from her, but not before waving a hand in her direction. His reward was a shriek of frustration.

“ _Really,_ pixie-locks? _”_ Greta said, fingers already buried in her hair in a futile effort to undo the knots. “Very mature,”

“You hung a  _horseshoe_  over the door to  _ambush me_ , you have  _no room_  to talk,”

“If I have to cut my hair again because you can’t take a joke, I swear I will-”

“Your hair looked fine,”

“ _Vati_ liked your hair short!” Trudi chirped.

“Yeah, see, your lesser half liked it,”

“Be that as it  _may,”_  said Greta insistently. “Toby might like my hair short, but I’m not really interested in giving everybody else in Wickhills more reasons to think I’m in league with the devil – it makes it somewhat difficult to buy  _groceries_ ,”

“I can always threaten to kill the ones who make a fuss,”

“ _Death threat!_ ” cried Trudi.

“Wha- no, it wasn’t!” retorted Virgil, “That doesn’t count, I was saying I  _could_ , not-”

“No death threats in the house,  _Bruderspinne_!” Trudi insisted, “You have to put a penny in the death threat jar!”

“ _You_  have to put pennies in the death threat jar because  _you_  are six _,_ Trudi,”

“Oh, goodness,” said Greta flatly, “I wonder who my six-year-old daughter might have been spending time with that would make it so I had to implement a death threat jar? It’s a mystery. An enigma. I’m sure we’ll never truly know for sure-”

“I am  _immortal_  and the  _actual lord of this forest –_ despite your insistence on acting like I’m not – and I am  _not_  putting a penny in the death threat jar,”

Greta and Trudi both crossed their arms.

“I’m not doing it,” he repeated.

Greta glared.

“ _Grettie,”_  he whined, “This is ridiculous,”

She held out the jar.

Wrinkling his nose petulantly in her direction, he cupped his hands together. When he opened them, there was a silver brooch in his palm, shaped like a snowflake. He dropped in the jar.

“What is this?” Greta said tiredly.

“A magical brooch to free your mind of worry,” he deadpanned.

“That’s not a penny,” said Trudi dubiously.

“Do I  _look_  like I carry pennies?”

“ _Bruderspinne_ ,” Greta said softly, and she didn’t look nearly as amused now, “We don’t need-”

“Do you want me to put something in the jar or not, Margareta?”

Greta huffed.

“Trudi, would you go play with Ritter on the porch for a moment?” she said.

“Is  _Bruderspinne_  in trouble?”

“More like he  _is_  trouble,” Greta muttered, “The  _porch_ , Gertrude,”

Shrugging, Trudi hopped down from her seat and trotted out the door.

Virgil glared at the wall, mutinous.

Greta huffed. “We don’t need-”

“I  _know_ ,” Virgil cut her off, “I know you don’t need it! I  _want_  to give it to you!”

“There’s no reason-”

“The  _reason_  is being my  _friend,_ ”

“This is not a  _transaction_ , Virgil!” Greta exclaimed.

Virgil recoiled.

Greta slumped, exhausted.

“You do not have to  _buy_  my friendship,” she said wearily, “This isn’t a  _deal_. You don’t owe me anything,”

Virgil sank down in the chair.

“I  _know_ ,” he said, “You only tell me  _every time_  I try to give you a gift,”

“Because you aren’t  _listening_ ,”

“ _You_  aren’t listening!” Virgil snapped, “Is it so baffling to you that I just want to give you things that make you happy just so you’re  _happy?_ ”

Her mouth pinched into a frown.

Then the fight went out of her, and she reluctantly pulled the brooch out of the jar.

“Fine,” Greta said, “I appreciate that you’re being thoughtful.  _No more._  And yes, I  _have_  noticed every time you tried to slip something into my jewelry box without telling me,”

“I’m well aware,” said Virgil dryly, “Seeing as they all wound up back in my web,”

Greta rolled her eyes, pinning the brooch to her shawl.

“Happy?” she said.

Virgil huffed, nodding.

Greta turned back to the bread dough, and Virgil propped his feet up on the chair opposite him.

“Most people would be glad to have less worry, you know,” he said, unable to leave it completely alone.

Greta smiled.

“Not us,  _Bruderspinne_ ,” she said, “If we didn’t worry, who would we even be?”

* * *

They were really  _far_  too complacent in their buffoonery. It was an embarrassment – his brother, lord of the forest, being led and ordered about at the whims of a mortal  _child_.

Durant watched, scowling, as Virgil swung the brat in circles and then set her on her feet. She wobbled, disoriented, and then tipped over into the dirt, giggling. The witch Margareta wasn’t even watching, her attention entirely on some bit of needlework in her lap. Leaving her child unattended in the hands of a fae without so much as blinking.

It was  _pathetic_. It actually made Durant a little nauseous, watching.

But Virgil’s stupidity was Durant’s opportunity, however pitiful it was to see it.

So, he watched. It had to be perfect; he’d only have one shot to get it right.

Tailing the mortals was tedious. Tailing them without tipping off Virgil was exhausting. Getting their names and their mannerisms down, the beats of their back-and-forth, practicing until he could nearly mouth the conversations as they had them.

Then he’d had to figure out an opening – Virgil would never know it, if Durant got this right, but his brother had made his life  _much_  easier when he’d finally convinced the mortal witch to take one of his trinkets – and then he’d had to wait months to make sure she wouldn’t be suspicious.

But patience did have it’s rewards. He knew exactly where the witch and her…  _offspring,_ would be, walking the same path from their home to the village proper they always did. Like they had no reason to be afraid.

Durant was going to enjoy giving them a reason.

The earlier rain had provided several convenient puddles for him to double check his appearance. He’d always had a talent for glamours, but it never hurt to make sure.

When he stepped out of the trees and the little chit squealed in delight, he smirked internally.

“ _Bruderspinne_ , are you coming to the market with us?” she shouted.

“Hey, nuisance,” Durant said, lifting her from the ground and trying not to scowl in distaste when she started scaling him like a cliff.

“ _Bruderspinne_ ,” the witch said, irritated. “You are  _not_  coming to the market to threaten the neighbors. Do you want them trying to exorcise Trudi again?”

“Since when to we care what the neighbors think?” he said.

“Yeah,  _Mutti_ , we don’t care what the neighbors think!”

The witch whacked him on the arm and Durant nearly blew the whole thing, but he managed to stop himself before he stabbed her.

“Have you made it your mission in life to corrupt my daughter at every available opportunity?” she demanded.

“Of course not,” he smiled, “But that is an idea,”

The witch rolled her eyes.

“Very funny,” she said. She reached out to pull the child off his shoulders and Durant stepped back out of her reach.

“Maybe I should keep Trudi,” he said “We can threaten the neighbors together. What do you think, nuisance?”

The child cheered, swaying back and forth. One of her grubby fists pulled at Durant’s hair and he winced.

The witch rolled her eyes, but there was the slightest line of confusion between her eyebrows. Durant rushed on before she could say anything.

“I actually needed your help with something,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, startled and clearly a little bemused. “Well… of course I’ll help you, but- what on earth do you need?”

Durant braced himself.

“You know about my brother,” he stated.

Her eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I am  _well aware_  of  _Herr Natter_ , and his proclivity for being a general annoyance. What has he done now?”

Durant nearly rippled with the desire to throttle her, but instead he gave her a hesitant, nervous smile.

“My brother hasn’t actually… done anything.” he said, shifting his weight in the way Virgil did when he was particularly embarrassed. He reached up and patted the spawn on the ankle for good measure. “But there’s a possibility he might be planning something,”

Just vague enough – possibilities were near infinite. You could say almost anything was  _possible_.

“So you’re just being paranoid again?” she said.

“It would make me feel better,” he said, pushing some note of pleading into his voice, “It’s not anything big,”

She sighed. “What is it?”

“I just need to borrow your brooch,” he said, “Not for long; just long enough to throw my brother off,”

This was it – if she pressed, it would almost certainly fall apart. There were any number of questions she could ask that would give him away. And judging from the way her brow was furrowing, she was winding up to ask at least one of them.

“Please, Grettie?” he said.

She wavered.

Then she gave a put upon sigh and a small smile.

“Just like you to worry about something that might not even be happening,” she said, unpinning the brooch and passing it to his opened palm. “And just like me to  _enable you_ ,”

The second it left her hand, the fond confusion on her face deepened into something a little more wary. He could see the tension rising in her shoulders – he had to move quickly now, before she caught on.

Durant smiled at her, pulling the child down and holding her out.

“I’ll give it back,” he said.

“… I should hope so, after the fit you threw getting me to take it,” she said, voice a little faint. She reached for the child again and Durant released her.

“We- we do have to go,” she said, “And  _you_  are not coming, Bruderspinne – I still don’t trust you around the neighbors,”

“Good plan,” he said.

The witch rolled her eyes a final time, turning down the road, that same wrong-footed expression on her face. The child waved over her shoulder.

“Good luck with your brother,  _Bruderspinne_!” she cried, “I hope you win!”

And, well.

It wouldn’t do to disappoint the child, would it?

* * *

Greta didn’t really  _startle_  Virgil much these days. She hardly ever dropped in on his web unannounced, unless she meant to give him something. She wasn’t exactly fourteen anymore – and Virgil quickly moved on to the next train of thought before he could dwell on that and work himself up into a full-blown fit – and traipsing around the forest became more of a special-occasion thing than a weekly one.

So when she popped in on his, a basket under her arm, in the middle of the day, he was understandably confused.

“Is something wrong?” he said instantly.

She put one hand on her hip, raising her eyebrows in a distinctly offended way.

“Am I allowed to visit my favorite brother? Must I always have an ulterior motive?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but his face almost certainly had truly embarrassing grin on it.

“I’m your  _only_  brother, Grettie,”

“Very true,” she said, giving him a sunny smile.

She picked her way across some of the loose strands of web – Virgil was actually in the middle of dismantling it to make a new one – and set the basket next to him.

Once she was closer, Virgil noticed some tension in her hands where she held the basket. He furrowed his brow.

“Where’s Trudi?” he asked, wondering if maybe he could coax something out of her.

Greta rolled her eyes.

“Trudi has two parents, you know,”

“Ha, ha,” said Virgil, reaching into the basket. He pulled out what looked like a tiny cake, full of little spots.

“What’s this?” he asked, confused.

“New recipe,” said Greta, pulling an apple out of the basket and tossing it back and forth in her hands, “Made it for you,”

“You have exactly five recipes, which you make on endless loop. A cook you are not. A  _baker_  you  _definitely_  are not,”

She through her hands up, theatrically offended.

“Oh, it’s cursed of course,” she said, “Totally poisonous. Not safe to eat at all. Your smartest move would be to put it back in the basket and ignore all my hard work,”

Virgil rolled his eyes, but then Greta turned away, fiddling with her brooch. She looked like he might actually have hurt her feelings.

“Alright, alright, I get it, don’t get your skirt in a knot,” said Virgil, maybe a little more gently than he normally would. He broke off a piece and popped it in his mouth.

He wrinkled his nose and immediately tried to smooth it out into a neutral expression.

“It’s very… floral,” he said. “It’s kinda weird, honestly, Greta,”

Greta shrugged, the pleased grin returning to her face.

“Like I said, it’s new,” she said, “I hadn’t tried it myself,”

Virgil scowled.

“You tested out your weird flower dessert on me?”

“Of course, who else?” she said lightly. “Maybe I’ll give Trudi a bit of it. Her face might be funny,”

“This is just like when you blew a ridiculous amount of money on those lemons just to see her reaction,” said Virgil.

For just the barest second, Virgil thought he saw a very strange expression flash across Greta’s face. Something almost like panic, but then Virgil blinked and she didn’t seem to have stopped smiling at all.

She shrugged.

“I’m sure you probably agree her face was very funny,”

The weird phrasing made something itch in the back of Virgil’s head, but before he could try and ask about it, she popped up from the ground, reaching out to help him stand.

“Come,” she said, “Trudi awaits,”

As they started making their way back in the direction of Greta’s house, her hand tapped nervously on the handle of the basket. When Virgil went to ask her again if something was wrong, he cut himself off with a yawn.

“Sleepy? It’s the middle of the day,” Greta teased.

“Oh, shut up,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

She shrugged. And then she- did?

She stopped talking.

They kept walking, and Virgil was certain something was wrong now. Greta was only quiet when she was  _really_  upset, but he had no idea why she was so reluctant to share. Maybe that was why she wanted him back at her house.

His anxiety picked up, but for some reason he wasn’t getting twitchy like he usually did. He kept yawning, and then actually stumbled, one of his knees briefly giving out.

“Are you okay?” said Greta, her voice sounding particularly wary.

“I- I don’t know,” he said. He right himself, but standing up straight only made his head swim.

“Whoa, easy,” said Greta, looping an arm around his waist, “We’re almost there. You can lay down when we get there, Brother Spider,”

That same itch prickled in the back of Virgil’s head, but he could seem to organize his thoughts – they kept wisping out, like smoke. By the time he got his brain wrapped around the thought and forced it out of his mouth, he could just see Greta’s house in the distance.

“English,” he mumbled.

“What’s that?” Greta prompted.

“You said- you said it in English,” Virgil slurred.

Greta tensed.

“I  _can_ speak English,” she said.

“You never- you never say-”

A particularly heavy wave of nausea washed over Virgil – his head was swimming, his vision swirling in time with the strange pounding in his temples. Greta readjusted her hold on his torso, shifting so she was carrying most of his weight.

He could properly see the house now, Trudi at the foot of the porch with Ritter next to her, two spots of purple and black in the brown of the dirt and the house. Greta and Virgil broke through the tree line and Trudi looked up, eyes bright with excitement.

But when her gaze rested on them, the smiled slipped instantly, the color draining from her face. Ritter looked up as well, curious.

Ritter leapt to his feet and absolutely lost his mind.

Virgil startled, confused; Ritter was baying, which he barely ever did – he  _was_  part coyote, but it hardly ever showed.

“ _Mutti_!” said Trudi, fumbling backward, terrified, “ _Mutti_ ,  _MUTTI_ , _HELP!”_

Virgil’s bewilderment was muffled by the pounding of his head; he could feel himself swaying. He heard something inside the house shatter. Feet pounded on the wooden floor, and Virgil wondered, baffled, why on earth Greta’s lesser half was trying to raise the dead with his racket.

But when the door flew open, it wasn’t only Tobias standing there.

It was Tobias and  _Greta._

Virgil froze.

He turned, like he was swimming through syrup, to look at the person next to him. Greta – not Greta,  _not_  Greta,  _not Greta –_ the impostor grinned savagely. It looked wrong on her face.

Greta could be petty, even mean. But she wasn’t  _cruel_.

The impostor dropped Virgil in the dirt, and as Virgil fell so did the illusion. His brother crouched down, elbows on his knees, still with that smug, victorious smile.

“I did tell you the food was cursed, Virgil,” he said primly.

Virgil’s vision was starting to go black at the edge’s but his hearing was fine. He heard Greta’s shriek of rage, the thumping of her running through the grass, and he saw her lunge at the spot where his brother sat, just as he vanished entirely. The last thing Virgil saw was Greta’s silver brooch on the ground.

* * *

“ _Toby, help me carry him!”_

“ _Reta, what’s happened-”_

“ _Shut_ _UP_ _and help me carry him,_ _T_ _obias!”_

* * *

“ _I don’t know, I don’t_ know _, what can I give him that wont make him worse-”_

“ _Reta, you have to calm down,”_

“ _Shut up, just SHUT UP, don’t tell me to calm down, he could be_ dying _-”_

* * *

“ _Virgil. Spider Prince of the Winter Court., Lord of the forest. Bruderspinne. **Wake up,** ”_

Clarity rushed back, along with the familiar sound and smell of Greta’s living room. Virgil breathed a sigh of relief.

Except… he  _hadn’t_ sighed.

Virgil moved to sit up, but his limbs didn’t respond. He tried to blink his eyes open but they didn’t so much as twitch.

“It didn’t work,” came Greta’s dull voice.

_Yes, it did,_ thought Virgil,  _yes, it did, I’m awake, I’m right here._

“Toby…” said Greta, her voice cracking slightly. “Toby, I’ve- I’ve tried  _everything,_ I- _”_

“ _Shh,”_  said Tobias, “You haven’t, it’s okay. There must be something. You’ll figure it out, Reta,”

“What if I don’t?” she whispered, “What if he’s like this forever? This is  _my fault_ ,”

“You and I both know that Brother Spider would tie your hair in knots for that,” Tobias chided gently.

_Damn right I would,_  Virgil thought vindictively.

“You  _will_  figure it out,” Tobias repeated, “And until then – we’ll take care of him. Make him a nice place to rest, with plenty of space for the little spider ladies, and when you wake him up he’ll probably make fun of you for worrying so much,”

“… Yes,” she agreed, her voice firming up, “You’re right. I can do this,”

Virgil felt Greta patting his hand soothingly, and he tried to wiggle his fingers in response, but there was still nothing.

“Don’t worry,  _Bruderspinne_ ,” she said, “I’ll have you awake in no time,”

Virgil relaxed internally. It would be fine – he just had to be patient. It might be a little boring – but knowing Greta, she’d figure it out inside a month.

“Soon, this will all be just a bad dream,”

_Just a bad dream._

**Author's Note:**

> have you ever been so notoriously sarcastic that you got your brother tricked into a magic coma?


End file.
